Not Even Second Best
by ZG Vallea
Summary: *SHOCKING* A... second chapter? Amazing. The second focuses on Knives, the first still on Legato. Anyways, this has a massive warning on it. I mean, it's nothing new, really, but it doesn't hurt to give a warning. Angst, abuse, and yaoi. Enjoy.
1.

Not Even Second Best  
  
  
You're back, Legato. Please, come in. I have a present for you, for your latest accomplishment. I think you'll rather enjoy it, really, so please... come in.   
  
_Legato opens the door and enters, shutting it quietly when he is just beyond the frame. A light fragrance of flowers permeates the air, invading his mind with thoughts of kaleidoscopic colors turning back and forth, back and forth, complicated with its thirty-degree slice of shapes. He awaits further instructions._   
  
Undress.   
  
_And he complies, almost too eager to obey the command. He then stands in the sweet-smelling room as naked as he came into this world, without the bawling of the infant he once was. He tries not to tense, but anticipation makes him as taunt as a string ready to be plucked._   
  
Calm down. Wait.   
  
_He relaxes, and waits. And before waiting too long, he is tumbled to the ground, hands holding him down. He doesn't need to be held down, but Legato does not refuse the rough gesture._   
  
Your PRESENT, Legato.   
  
_Then he feels that familiar jolt running through him as he's completed. He's rocked back hard, his shoulders digging into the floor, but he grits his teeth and stares into those wide, manic eyes. Those lovely eyes._   
  
SMILE, Legato. Don't look so anguished.   
  
_He smiles, and he would follow those eyes into oblivion if need be. A particularly awful push causes his eyes to roll upwards; he groans and appreciates his present._   
  
Look at me, Legato, LOOK AT ME. Did I tell you to look away? NO! THEN I'LL HURT YOU AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN UNTIL   
  
_he screams in utter pain, beautifully horrified as his voice becomes hoarse and no longer recognizable, compared to the silky smooth tones he once spoke._   
  
SCREAM! SCREAM!   
  
_He screams._   
  
LOUDER!   
  
_He screams louder, hurting his throat._   
  
LOOK AT ME WHILE YOU SCREAM, LEGATO! LOOK AT ME!   
  
_Legato looks at him, screaming as the pain pierces him in a million different directions, like sharp knives pricking his skin. He almost feels worthy._   
  
SCREAM, DAMN YOU! DO YOU THINK YOU'RE   
  
_worthy of his pain, his fleeting, momentary pain? He doesn't know, but if he is allowed to feel it now, feel it for as long as possible, then perhaps, maybe, he is worthy._   
  
...   
  
_And then he feels that emptiness again. He longs to be one with his master again, but knows better than to ask for such a heavy favor. His master has been nice enough to grant him the privilege, and he has no right to take advantage of it. He lays on the floor, waiting. Tears begin to slip from Legato's eyes._   
  
I hate you. You're nothing compared to him. Yet, I soil myself with you so that he may remain pure. Don't you love me for this?   
  
_He cries without sound, taking the words to heart. He is hated for what he is, and can therefore never be more than that nothing. Yet it angers him, deep within, that he should be below the creature so worshipped by the one he worships. But yet again, he believes the words._   
  
Aren't I so kind? Don't you love me?   
  
_Legato loves his master for being so kind._


	2. Martyr For The Cause

Martyr For The Cause  
  
  
I can smell him, smell him wanting sex, wanting me, wanting to have sex with me. It's not very complicated; I am his Master, and he is my servant. He would do anything for me, especially, above everything else, try to please me. So he wants to pleasure me. Fine. But on my own terms, naturally. _I'll_ take him, and only when I'm good and ready. So when he comes in, I'll let him squirm a little, wait a moment before I deliver my "present." He thinks he deserves it, in some fashion, but really, he's thankful. After all, without me, he is nothing, and he's grateful. He's nothing more than a human, and he knows it. He knows he is nothing, but he revels in it, almost as much as he revels whenever I fill him. Complete him. Make him feel like he's actually someone.   
  
I take him again, as usual, being as gentle as I ever am. He moans and shivers and screams until his lungs are about to burst and his body is about to break. I'll break him yet, but he's resilient. I suppose it's all for me, though. I'm almost flattered, but really, why shouldn't it be for me? Because he is nothing without me, so I am his God, his Master, and, I guess in that crude, unsavory way, his lover. Lover. And he knows I don't love him. Why, he is no more to me than the sand I walk beneath. He is less than that.   
  
Yet he loves me. Oh, he _loves_ me.   
  
I always remind him that I hate him for what he is, a despicable creature, and that I only have the heart to love one person. No, not merely a person; a brother. My brother, my one and only. How can anyone compare to the perfection that shines in, of, and about him? Even if there were more of our kind, he would still be the brightest star among us. Yet, he chooses to live with them.   
  
With my horrid servant's kind. Humans.   
  
What a hideous lot they are! Always scavenging and hunting for food, killing each other for no reason, and _using our kind_! Vash, can't you see how they will only hurt you in the end? Please, come back to me. I care so much about you, my brother...   
  
He mewls in the pain I give him, but he loves it. And I love inflicting pain upon him, so I give him more of those precious gems to think over. Over and over, again and again, until he can beg no more. Can't he see? That with each blow I deal him, physically, mentally, emotionally, I am elevating my brother so high that he is a saint compared to me? As he should be, of course. There is no one greater.   
  
Legato, you fool; you are my tool, and yet you revel in it. Why? But I know why. I'm grateful for it. So I'll give you another present for your actions, for your service. Again and again, over and over. Until you can beg no more.   
  
Is it sex you want? Then that is what you'll get. You want pain? Fine, have your pretty pain. Scream for me, Legato, and let me know that I am not doing a disservice to my dear brother. For him, you will my subject of torture. He is the saint, and I the villain. You are the tool.   
  
Aren't you grateful?   
  
Aren't I so kind to you, Legato? Don't you love me for it? 


End file.
